


My Heart On Your Sleeve

by TT_Angst_Queen



Series: Onshots that won't go anywhere [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU : Emotions are seen on skin via Flower Language Tattoos, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Language of Flowers, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 18:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16561046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TT_Angst_Queen/pseuds/TT_Angst_Queen
Summary: Bucky was born, like all children, with daisy chains encircling his wrist and Baby’s breath on his cheeks.





	My Heart On Your Sleeve

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

When James Buchanan Barnes was born to George and Winifred Barnes, in Romania, he was born into a world where flowers were a part of everyone's life and were a part of your soul that showed on your skin. Flowers that represented you emotions that spun stories on your skin and bared you for the world to see. Some people chose to get a full body tattoo that would cover up any sign of those blooming bud and winding plants. Those people were generally not trusted and were avoided by ‘polite society’. After all, if you went through so much pain to hide your soul, what was so twisted about your soul that you would want to cover it up?

 

Most commonly, Flowers bloomed on your arms and cheeks, and unless the air was too cool for bare arms, it was considered rude to not have your arms bare; considered secretive and suspicious. Your flowers could be interpreted in different ways, with different meanings, but knowledge was taught when children were old enough to understand, and required classes from grade school to college and university taught the intricacies and different meanings that small children were to young to understand. When you reached your emotional maturity, you gained your ‘heart and soul’ flower and plant, right in the dip of your collarbones, which you had the choice whether or not to cover. But it was impossible for one to tattoo over it, as it would just appear right above the new tattoo.     


 

Bucky was born, like all children, with  _ daisy chains _ encircling his wrist and  _ Baby’s breath _ on his cheeks.  

 

When Bucky was six years old, he was waiting for the Doctor to tell them that he could see his ma and his new baby sister,  _ Gooseberries  _ trailing up and down his arms while the scent of _ Pear Trees _ clung to his father as his large hand clamped down on his small shoulder. Bucky appreciated the comfort from his father, trying to settle his nerves while the  _ Gooseberries _ danced on his arms. The smell of  _ Baby’s breath _ and  _ Daisies _  hung around the maternity ward like a flowery perfume.

 

Rebecca Anne Barnes was born with  _ Daisy  _ chains on her wrists and  _ baby’s breath _ on her cheeks. Her eyes, blue as cornflowers, blinked curiously but tiredly at them as the little family peered lovingly at the tiny bundle.

_ Sorrel  _ trailed his father's arms and  _ wood sorrel _ trailed his mother’s. Bucky had taken one look at the sleepy bundle of wrinkled skin and tufts of brownish-blond hair, and  _ Bearded Crepis _ started flowing all over his arms,  _ Myrtle blossoms _ blooming on each cheek. 

 

“You will be a great big brother, James,” Winnie Barnes told her son, smiling with her husband. George Barnes smiled at his little family,  _ Sorrel _ and now also  _ Holly _ dancing on his arms and brushing his cheeks.  

 

When Bucky was eight years old freshly moved to America, he met a tiny boy, one-year younger than him, standing up to a group of bullies who had been picking on a girl that looked to be a few years younger than him. The tiny blond had his even tinier fists raised, stick-thin limbs flush with  _ Coltsfoot  _ and  _ Rudbeckia _ , his cheeks covered with  _ oak leaves _ and _ black poplar _ . The Bullies had him knocked down in seconds flat, but the blond just got right back up, albeit slowly, and raised those tiny fists again, his mouth set in a firm scowl, and his eyes burning with a fire like Bucky had never before seen on anyone the blonds size. 

 

Bucky’s arms were dotted with  _ striped Carnations _ , showing his hesitation on helping the blond, but the second time the tiny blond got knocked down, the boy gave a whimper that reminded Bucky all too much of his tiny baby sister, and the  _ Daisy _ chains and  _ baby’s breath _ that still lingered on her skin, longer than most children her age.  

 

Bucky’s arms popped up with  _ Juniper _ and _ bearded crepis  _ and  _ Oak leaves _ , and he rushed in, knocking the bullies away from the tiny boy, his fists flying in defence of the blond he had decided instantly he was going to protect for the rest of his life. 

 

After the bullies had run away, Bucky had held a bruised hand out,  _ flowering Almonds _ trailing along the backs of that hand. 

 

“M’names Bucky, Bucky Barnes,” he smiled at the blond boy, who now pouted at him

 

“I had em’ on the ropes,” he protested, “and It’s Steve, Steve Rogers.”

 

“Sure ya’ did, pal,” Bucky smiled, and Steve grinned back, reaching out to take Bucky’s hand. 

 

_ Oak-leaved geraniums  _ slowly blossomed on their arms from the tips of their small fingers, up the backs of their hands, sprawling up their arms and up to brush at their cheeks. The two small boys smelt like the  _ yellow roses _ from their grandma’s garden. 

 

Bucky and Steve became fast friends, two immigrants with accents that were made fun of; Bucky, with his Romanian accent, and Steve, With his Irish one. They had, years later, learned to speak like the rest of their fellow Americans, only a small hint that could only be heard if one was really looking for it. 

  
  


When Bucky was ten years old, his da was killed in a factory accident, and he knew by the aloe scented air of his home when he walked in the door after school, and the  _ Cypress  _ flowers covering his ma’s arms as she hugged him. Bucky saw the  _ Cypress  _ blooms start to dot his own arms, watered by the tears that leaked from his eyes. 

 

The house smelt of  _ Aloe _ for years. Steve never really stopped smelling of  _ Scarlet Geraniums _ , even years later, the faint scent lingered. 

 

When Bucky was fifteen, he gained his “Heart Plant” and his  “Soul Flower”, right in the dip of his clavicle, the Plant and Flower that represented what he would be for the rest of his life. 

 

His mother cried while Bucky stared with shock at the  _ Oleander _ blossom surrounded by a circle of  _ Milfoil _ . 

 

He had War in his Heart and Danger in his Soul. 

 

It wouldn’t be for a long time, but one day, he would understand. 

 

But at that moment, the smell of  _ Aloe _ returned, strong as ever. 

 

The Barnes family grieved Bucky before they had even lost him.

 

When Steve had seen the mark, Bucky had panicked and tried to bolt and cover it up, but Steve didn't look at him with the fear he could see in his mother's eyes, or the worry in his sisters’, the disgust in his neighbours. Steve just pulled him into a hug,  _ Pear tree _ leaves blooming on his arms and  _ lavender _ exuding from his scent glands. Bucky relaxed, the calming effect making his tense muscles unwind. He hugged Steve back, glad that the position hid Steve’s eyes from the  _ Bridal roses _ and _ Yellow Acacia’s _ blooming on his arms. 

 

When Bucky was eighteen, Steve’s mother died of TB. Bucky had found out when he had gone to visit Steve and was confronted by an ambulance and two doctors carrying a sheet-covered litter out of Steve’s house. Steve had been standing in the doorway, tears dripping down his face and  _ Cypress _ flowers bloomed beneath each tear, as if the grief was watering each blossom to bloom.  

 

Working in the TB ward had its deadly risks, but Mrs. Rogers needed the money. Steve’s medicine was expensive, and they had a rough winter that year, and Steve coming down with both the flu and a bout of bronchitis stretched the small family thinner than ever.

Bucky had tried to help, but he had moved out of his own home that year while still helping his own Ma and sister pay the bills and food while paying for his own. He had been able to help out with a few extra groceries and two extra pencils for Steve’s art supplies, but that was all he could afford. He was stretched thin already, and though Bucky’s help was appreciated, it didn’t do enough good, much to Bucky’s regret.  

 

Bucky had immediately offered Steve a place in his apartment, which his friend had tried to refuse, but Bucky wouldn’t take no for an answer, and eventually, Steve gave in. It took some adjustment, and Steve ended up getting a job drawing advertisements and the occasional pin up, making enough money that while they didn’t live in maximum comfort, they weren’t destitute. The Tiny Apartment they shared along with the rickety bed was a small concession in the face of having more food for them to eat and medicine so Steve would continue to survive. 

  
  


Steve had gotten his Heart Plant and Soul Flower later that year. 

 

A  _ Nasturtium _ Bloom surrounded by  _ Black Poplar _ leaves. 

 

Patriotism and Courage. 

 

Bucky didn’t expect anything less, honestly.

 

* * *

 

 

When Bucky was Twenty one, a letter showed up at the door. 

  
  


The knock on the door was unexpected, and made Steve and Bucky jump. They had been listening to the radio and what was going on in the front. It was late afternoon and they never got many visitors anyways, so having one this late in the day was unusual. 

 

_ Sycamore _ branches teasing at their cheeks, Bucky and Steve shared a glance and both agreed that Bucky would answer the door. After last week when Ms. O’leary got jumped on the way out her door, they were gonna be extra cautious on anything unusual. Steve didn’t like it, but Bucky appreciated the fact that for once the stubborn punk agreed that he would be useless if something happened.

 

Opening the door, Bucky felt his heart drop and Columbine bloom in rapid patterns over his arms, chest, neck and cheeks. 

 

The two Army officers showed no notice to Bucky’s fear as the handed him his draft notice. 

 

“Report next tuesday at 0700 at the nearest recruitment office. Welcome to the US Army.”

 

Bucky couldn’t do much more than stutter an affirmative as the officers left, trailing the scent of  _ Milfoil _ behind them.

 

Bucky had to take a few breaths before he closed the door. Before he face Steve and what would probably be the toughest thing he would ever have to tell his friend. He didn’t want to see the look Steve would give him as he told him of being Drafted. Steve, who had been talking about Draft Dodgers like they were the scum of the earth. Steve, who would probably look at Bucky with disgust when he found out what had happened. That he had been Drafted, not Enlisted. 

 

It was then, that he made a decision.

 

“Who was that?” Steve asked him, looking up from the radio. 

 

“Oh, just Mrs. Dorothy asking if we had any milk to spare, told her we didn’t, nobody has any to spare these days,” Bucky said, smiling fakely. Luckily, Steve’s bad eyesight and hearing came in handy, that he couldn’t hear the strain in Bucky’s voice or the concealed tears in his eyes. 

 

“Again?” Steve sighed, “She’s been doin’ that to everyone lately, and as much as i hate we can’t help, we can’t spare it, nobody can.”

 

“Ya, Steve, I know, but sometimes ya’ gotta keep tryin, ya’know?” Bucky said flippantly.

He would regret those words. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve kept trying. It wasn’t like Bucky never told him to stop; he had, on multiple occasions, expressed his worry about Steve trying to enter the Army. Steve would never survive out there no matter what his heart and soul flower was. 

 

Bucky, on the other hand, was born for War; He had it in war in his heart and danger in his soul. He had the flowers that the army looked for in a man, and they knew it. He was strong, healthy, and had the marks that showed he would thrive in battle. 

  
  


He wished he could burn them off. 

  
  


But Steve, he didn’t care that he was too small, too weak, too unhealthy for the army. He wanted to fight the biggest bullies he could find, and while that was a nice sentiment, Bucky knew that his friend would never make it through basic training, probably not even alive. Bucky worried about Steve constantly, and combined with his worries about his draft letter, Bucky had a steady stream of  _ red columbines _ blooming on his legs, where he forced them to hide so Steve wouldn’t get suspicious.

  
  


It wasn’t till he left for basic that Steve found out about it. Despite Steve’s propensity to getting into fight after fight, when Steve was mad at someone he cared about, he didn’t yell. He didn’t swear, fight, or punch. He just passive aggressively looked at you with sad, disappointed eyes that gutted you,  _ Fish Geraniums _ blooming on his cheeks. Steve Rogers was very good at making you feel very bad, and Bucky was not immune. 

 

But he refused to tell Steve about being drafted, even under pain of death. Bucky would rather die then let Steve think he was a coward. So Bucky went to Basic. He trained with blood, sweat and tears while his mark pulsed with warmth with every pull of the trigger, every kick and punch and downed target. When he came back, spent his last night with Steve before he had to ship out. 

  
  


The night wasn’t very exciting, despite the falling flying car; Steve had disappeared halfway through and Bucky had found him in front of the enlistment booth. 

 

Again. 

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
